


Mistakes

by orionsspectre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Almost Friends, Angst, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Moicy, Overwatch - Freeform, Rarepair, Retribution, Sex, and it should be known that i only think they would bang once because they were drunk, and never again, implied moicy, mcmoira, moira is absolutely a lesbian, overwatch archives, there was no happy ending for them, this is an extremely rare ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionsspectre/pseuds/orionsspectre
Summary: Jesse McCree is reminded of a phantom of his past that was never supposed to find her way into Talon. Moira O'Deorain and him had never gotten along all that well, but when the team was dissolved McCree was left with plenty of guilt at what happened to his teammates. When Moira slips from his grasp because McCree hesitates, he later reflects on an instance or two where Moira wasn't just a snooty scientist, but a valued member of his team.They were never friends, but they could have been.





	Mistakes

From Jesse McCree’s memory, Moira O’Deorain was many things. 

She was a snob. She practically walked around with her nose held so high in the air McCree wondered if she had her neck permanently craned that way. 

She was frighteningly intelligent, and he put an emphasis on the word _frightening_. He once watched her map out a bomb so detailed and so precisely that she could even tell him where the exact blast radius would end and the force it would apply each meter before then. 

She was what he could only describe as cold and calculating. He had once watched her make an impossible shot with her Biotic Orb to clear a corridor once. They’d been pinned down by Talon agents and they were all holed up in a corridor blocking their exit.

She’d cleared the way for them. 

She was frustrating and snooty and one of the best medics he’d ever had the displeasure of stitching him up (she never used numbing agents).

But she was never supposed to be a part of Talon. 

“What’s the matter, McCree? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Pain washed through his body, bringing the cowboy to a knee. He saw a flash of purple in the corner of his eye and he let out a silent curse to himself. 

He’d forgotten about the damn orbs.

“Moira what _happened_ to you?” he managed to say, shakily rising to his feet with Peacemaker drawn. She stood across the room, the chaos of battle raging outside. 

It was never supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have found a Talon bunker where an important leader of the shadowy organization would be bunkering down after one of their facilities were hit.

Moira was not supposed to be in the bunker.

She hadn’t aged a bit, which he was assuming was thanks to that healing stuff she’d developed with the Doc years ago. She wore all black, and her nails were threateningly long. Her hair was no longer falling freely in her face, instead it was smoothed back, and a silver plate rested around her left eye.

Her only normal eye. The other one was red like a demon that was straight from hell.

“I didn’t factor in you arriving. I thought you had left Overwatch.” she said, a sneer on her face. She remained on the opposite side of the room, never one to get too close unless she absolutely needed to, and he had his revolver trained on her. 

“Things change.” he growled. She shrugged, taking a step toward the exit. 

Peacemaker stayed pointed at her.

“Where do ya think your going Moira?” he asked, cocking the hammer back on his weapon. She kept walking, not even turning back to look at him.

“You won’t shoot me, McCree.”

Black smoke began furling around her, something he’d seen another ghost from his past perform, and in a sudden surge out the door he had lost her. 

Moira was gone again.

 

The debrief was brutal.

“You’re certain it was her?” 

McCree had been dreading this part. Dr. Angela Ziegler stared up at McCree with eyes that were tired beyond belief, and there was nothing he could do except keep bringing her more and more bad news. 

“Yeah doc, it was her.”

Angela sagged in her chair, rubbing her temples as Lena leaned against the conference table. Like Moira, the good doctor hadn’t aged a bit since he’d last seen her, but her eyes had never looked so old before. 

Winston sat at the end of the conference table, tapping away at his datapad, pulling up the surveillance photos of the fight. He showed the room the pictures; there was carnage, but none of the newly recalled agents had been hurt worse than a few scrapes and bruises.

“So what’s the plan? She was one of ours.” Lena asked, staring at one image in particular.

Moira was reaching for someone’s gloved hand on a dropship to help her aboard, and that gloved hand seemed to have thick claws. McCree already had an idea of who’s claws they were; the ghosts must have decided to haunt him.

“We need to apprehend her. Maybe find out if its some sort of mind control or-” Angela rambled, clearly not accepting the harsh reality in front of her. Ever the optimist, McCree bitterly thought.

“Ang, she’s gone.” he said, his hand on the doctor’s shoulders. 

 

The debriefing had finally been completed and it had ended on a bit of a higher note. A new face would be joining the team and McCree had remembered the name; that little video gamer he’d stopped a robbery with would be teaming up for awhile, in return for help in South Korea. 

He retired to his room, able to finally get his own now that Overwatch wasn’t near at the strength it used to be. It was a bittersweet commodity, but he was glad to have access to a shower and a warm bed.

He rested on his bed, his boots kicked off, his gun belt hanging from a bedpost, and his eyes staring at his dresser where an old photograph sat with a layer of dust covering it.

The Blackwatch that used to be.

When times were good.

Gabriel Reyes stood in the middle, Genji Shimada on his left, McCree on his right, and Moira sitting in front, that same snooty expression on her face. 

McCree rolled over, his back to the picture. 

He remembered an occasion or two when Moira did not look like some rich brat. He remembered an instance where all hell broke loose and McCree genuinely thought he was a goner, and he closed his eyes for what he thought would be the last time.

Then he had heard her voice from somewhere above him, and in that moment he had never been so grateful she was there.

_”Surrender to my will!_

Everything had been a blur, and he didn’t know what was going on until he felt the intense warmth of her Biotic Grasp wash over him and her free arm helping him sit up and lean against her body. 

_”Injured again?”_ she had softly said, for once without sarcasm in her voice. 

_”I ain’t gonna call you Angela.”_ he had weakly managed.

_”You do and I’ll kill you myself.”_ she snorted. 

She had always healed the team before, but she had truly saved him that day.

He remembered another occasion where she hadn’t been completely unbearable to be around. 

 

He’d just had the riot act read to him for going behind Reyes’s back and moving in on a target without approval, and Moira was in an equally foul mood from some sort of research grant getting denied. 

They were sent to HQ to debrief after Blackwatch’s latest mission. Morrison had preached on about teamwork after Reyes, and McCree had been given the workout of a lifetime thanks to both of them being former US soldiers. 

Now he found himself in some local bar not too far from HQ, and he was surprised to see Moira, the most uptight person he knew, drowning her sorrows in what appeared to be whiskey. 

“Well, well… fancy seeing you hear.” he said, sliding into the bar seat next to her. She shot him a venomous glare before throwing back the rest of her drink and turning her glare to the ice remaining. 

He signaled to the bartender, ordering himself a drink before motioning to the woman next to him.

“And another one of those for her I guess.” 

The bartender nodded, sliding another glass of whiskey on the rocks to Moira and giving McCree his own drink before turning back to tend to the other customers in the bar. 

“I don’t need your pity.” she growled, gripping the glass in her hands so hard he thought he could see her knuckles turn whiter than they already were. 

“Don’t think of it as my pity. Think of it as me payin’ ya back for that one time in Japan.” 

She was silent for a moment, seeming to consider it before knocking the drink back and flagging the bartender down for another. McCree shrugged and downed his own, doing the same. 

“Ya know, for someone who says how he likes to skirt around the rules every so often, Reyes seems to have a problem when someone skirts around his own.” McCree said, lighting a cigar. Moira drank more before giving a wry smile.

“You men have no class; constantly beating your chests and attempting to use brute force to get your way. He was angry because he took the time to carefully plan the extraction, and you decided to reenact some sort of cowboy movie and rush ahead.” she said with a small laugh.

He blinked in surprise before ordering Moira another drink.

He liked her better when she wasn’t being snooty.

“Well, he didn’t tell me that.” he mumbled, before throwing back another drink.

“Why should he? You’re a subordinate.”

It was his turn to shoot her a glare, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was flicking dust from under one of her meticulously kept nails. 

They stayed like that for awhile, drinking well into the night, not talking much. A football match was on the holos that Moira seemed to look up at every so often, and McCree had idle chit-chat with the bartender. 

It was Moira that broke the silence between them.

“McCree… am I a good scientist?” she asked, her words slightly slurred. 

He was surprised at her question; she had never asked anyone for their opinion, and had made it clear she never cared what her peers thought. Reyes tried to correct her once and he very clearly remembered her laughing before walking away. 

“Yeah, Moira. A damn fine one even if ya give off a Dr. Jekyll vibe.” he said. 

She laughed, and he was surprised again. This laugh wasn’t belittling or sarcastic; it was warm and inviting and McCree found himself chuckling too.

“I’ve been meaning to thank ya for Japan, Moira. Ya really saved my hide.” 

She gave him a curious smile, her lips on the rim of her glass with the bartender already lining up another round for the wayward duo. 

“Ya coulda left me there. It woulda been a lot less hassle for everyone. Ya risked your neck for me and I can’t ever repay ya for it.” he said, his face flushed from the drinks he’d had, secretly trying to keep up with the woman. 

“Nonsense, McCree. You are a fine specimen and it would be a waste to see you go. The only thing that needs work is the fact that you’re incredibly annoying.”

She grinned, and drank more, the flush of alcohol spreading against her cheeks. 

He coughed into his drink, and she laughed more. 

“Hey guys. I’m gonna need to close out tabs. Gotta get home.” the bartender said, sliding the duo their last round of drinks and their checks. The duo settled up, and began stumbling out of the bar, Moira needing to use McCree to keep her balance. 

It had been satisfying to see the drinking had affected her as much as him. 

“Whoa there.” he’d said, scooping her into his arms after realizing she couldn’t stand upright on her feet. 

“I’ve got it, McCree.” she grumbled, resting her head against his shoulder. 

She was always so snooty, thinking of herself as so dignified and proper, but tonight she was just another Overwatch grunt like him, with her tie loosened and her top shirt buttons undone. 

“Hey.”

She’d broken him from his thoughts as he stumbled down the streets of Zurich with her in his arms. 

“What?” he asked, waving down a taxi. When the cab stopped, the driver gave McCree a sympathetic look, no doubt due to the woman in his arms, and McCree awkwardly shuffled her in first before following after. 

Reyes would have a field day if he saw the two of them sneaking in like this, McCree would have to be even sneakier than the commander.  
“I just want to make it clear you’re not my type.” she said, her accent even more pronounced. 

He was surprised by the question, but before he had time to answer the woman had her lips on his. 

He had found Moira attractive at first, she was older and mature and still had the appearance of youth and a sharp mind, but her personality had grated on his nerves, and he’d very clearly saw how she looked at Angela a time or two.

He knew he wasn’t her type, and she wasn’t his. 

But at the moment, they were just two pissed off people in need of a release, and he would welcome whatever form that came in, and she seemed to be of the same mindset. 

The driver pulled up outside of HQ and McCree had to pull himself away from her long enough to stumble his way out of the cab and yank her along with him, having to reign in all the control he could muster as she ran her hands over his torso, yanking up on his shirt.

He dragged her along, getting to the barracks before realizing that Genji would no doubt be inside in his bunk in the shared room. 

“Shit.” he cursed, one hand on his hat as the other kept hold on Moira’s.

“My room is private. Come.” she said, pulling him down the hall toward the elevator.

“Oh, I intend to.” he said with a grin, one hand on his hat to keep it from falling off his head. She pulled him into the elevator, holding her hand against a biometric scanner and being allowed access before using her free hand to grab McCree by his collar and yanking his mouth onto hers.

She ran her tongue against his lip before biting it, eliciting a small groan from McCree. Unsurprisingly, Moira liked being in charge, and for tonight he reckoned he could allow it.

He had her boxed against the wall and when the elevator door opened they stumbled into her private quarters.

The next morning went as he expected. She’d woken up well before him and was drinking tea, looking over a datapad next to him in bed. His clothes had been folded neatly by the bedside, and she herself wore a robe. 

“Mornin’.” he mumbled, covering his face with a pillow. 

She hummed in acknowledgement, and McCree sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit and get his bearings for a moment before getting dressed and returning to his shared quarters. 

They had never mentioned that night again; how McCree had Moira sliding up and down his cock, and he’d grabbed her waist so roughly that she had bruising to show for it. They didn’t talk about how McCree had claw marks down his back that had given him so much pleasure when she’d given them to him. 

They never talked about how Moira had held McCree in the afterglow of sex, something he’d never experienced before but decided he liked. 

It was a silent agreement between the two; it was a one time thing that two people needed in order to mutually release anger and tension that had no business brewing in a covert operations team. 

She was still too snooty for him.

He was nowhere near her preference.

They developed a more team dynamic after; Moira willing to throw McCree an extra Biotic Orb if the need arose, and McCree covering Moira’s body with his own in Venice when all hell broke loose and a sniper was targeting her. 

But after Venice things went sour, and when Blackwatch was disbanded, words were said that stung McCree more than he expected.

_”Moira… I’m sorry-”_

_”Silence, ingrate.”_

Those were the last words she’d said to him as she left Blackwatch and Overwatch forever. 

 

When they found word of Moira’s potential whereabouts, McCree had volunteered to go. It seemed fitting he finished what he couldn’t the last time. 

When he disembarked the dropship, he landed in absolute chaos. The facility Moira had been rumored to be working at was under attack, and it wasn’t from Overwatch. The geneticist had a larger mark on her back than anyone had originally thought. 

When he found her, Moira was limping alone in an alley; a cut on her temple had blood trickling down her face, and she was clutching one of her sides. Whatever happened, she couldn’t heal herself at the moment. 

He slowly started making his way towards her, not unlike trying to approach a wild horse he was hoping to tame. 

“I know you’re there, McCree.” she spat, blood dripping from her mouth. 

He kept approaching her, his hands up to show that Peacemaker was holstered. 

“I know. Let’s go Moira.”

She turned to face him, and he noticed the silver faceplate had been knocked off, and her hair was no longer slicked back due to the grime of battle. She looked the same as she did eight years before. 

She didn’t have the energy to fade away, and didn’t put up a struggle when he scooped her into his arms as he did all those years ago that night at the bar. 

“Ingrate.” she muttered. 

It was unspoken what was between them, but they understood.

They never would have been lovers; but they could have been friends, and that was swept away from them in the way that only life can cruelly manage.

“I always thought hiring you was a mistake.” McCree said, carrying her away to the waiting dropship.

“The best mistake one could ever make.” she replied. 

She passed out in his arms, waking up in an Overwatch infirmary with Angela leaning over her and wanting an explanation. 

Moira said nothing, her allegiance was no longer to Overwatch, and though McCree thought he saw a softness for Angela in Moira’s eyes, it had vanished quickly and was replaced by resolve. 

Moira was gone. She would not come back.

When he was awoken a week later in the middle of the night by Moira, he hadn’t bothered reaching for his gun. She was sitting at a side table in his room, looking out a window as they listened to the frantic guards outside searching for her.

“Reaper is an operative of Talon that is attempting to find former Overwatch agents and eliminate them. His next target resides in Cairo, and he is bringing a sniper by the name of Widowmaker with him.” she said, helping herself to a cup of tea she’d made using his kitchenette.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, studying the woman.

She met his eyes with her own before giving him a sad smiled. 

“Consider us even.” 

And like that, the smoke was surrounding her once more and she was gone. 

Another ghost from his past slipping away, another mistake left to haunt him in its place.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya!
> 
> So I want to make it extremely clear that I don't ship McCree and Moira in more than a "we got drunk and had sex one night but it will N E V E R happen again" type of situation. I think with the release of Retribution, we get to see more interactions between Moira and McCree, and I think on some level that they could have been friends if things hadn't gone so poorly for them.
> 
> I will always and forever think that Moira is a lesbian, and a very powerful lesbian at that.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> -Spectre


End file.
